ACT I., SCENE I.

_Enter +Duke+ from war, in triumph, leading in his hand +Artabella+, a woman of that country from whence he came, with +Arbatus+ her brother, and +Zoranzo+ prisoner; and on the other side +Amphelia+, +Ortellus+, and Guard._

+Duke.+ Madam, I need not say y'are welcome to this Country, since 'tis mine.

+Art.+ Sir, leaving my own for yours Speaks my belief of that, and all things else You say.

+Duke.+ The same unto your worthy brother, Besides, my thanks to you, sir, for letting Your sister take this journey.

+Arb.+ Your highness hath so nobly express'd Yourself unto my sister, that I Consented to her coming with you; so Highly I esteem'd your princely word, That I have let her trespass on the Bound of common modesty in this Adventure: for when this hasty judging World shall see you have brought a woman From her own country, and not your Wife, how soon will every tongue give her Another title!

+Duke.+ Sir, my sudden actions shall prevent all Tongues or thoughts either to name or think her Anything but my duchess; therefore All that owe duty or respect to me, pay it To her. What, Amphelia, did you believe The world so barren of good faces, that Yours only does enrich it? or did you think It was men's fates only to doat on yours? Look on this lady, and you'll see your error; Mark well her face, and you will find In every line beauty sits empress there. These are the eyes, Amphelia, now, that dart Obedience through my heart; are not you vex'd To see I am no constant fool, and love You still?

+Amph.+ Vexed at what? to see a man I hate Love another? a very great vexation! Know, sir, this breast has only room for joy And love to brave Ortellus-- Forgive my heart that 'twas not yours before, Since you have long deserv'd it.

+Ort.+ Madam, no time was long enough to wait This blessed hour.

+Amph.+ Alas, great duke! instead Of pining for your change, you find me midst A thousand joys in this new choice.

+Duke.+ So you do me, Amphelia, amidst Ten thousand; not all the glories that Attend a conquering soldier can create One joy so great in me, As being conquer'd here in my own triumphs. I am but a slave; Nor does my victory over thousands please Me so much, as being overcome by One--by this fair one, whose eyes, by shining On my triumph only, make it glorious.

+Amph.+ Well, sir, we will not change our happy states; You cannot brag of happiness so great To make me envy: I am only sorry for This lady, that had nothing else to do With her heart but to give it you. Madam, If your breast had been crowded with some twenty Or thirty hearts, and amongst these one very Ill, you might have Made present of that to this mighty duke.

+Duke.+ Madam, does not this lady's discourse make you Afraid of me.

+Art.+ Not in the least, sir.

+Duke.+ Where's this bold prisoner?

+Guard.+ Here, and [it] please your highness.

+Duke.+ Well, sir, tho' you did attempt to kill me In our camp, after you were our prisoner, You shall not die, since you are of the same Country this lady is; therefore thank her And fortune for your life.

+Zor.+ I'd sooner curse them both. Shall I thank any for my life, but heaven That gave it me? I'd rather give it to A cat. A noble death were far more welcome To me, than a mean life at second hand. My being here I owe unto the gods. When they think fit to lend it me no longer, They know the way to take it from me. I scorn To run in debt unto a mortal duke for two Or three days' breath.

+Amph.+ Brave captive! [_Aside._

+Duke.+ You're Very high, considering you are in chains.

+Zor.+ Why, sir, think you these fetters can confine My mind as they do my legs, or that my Tongue is your prisoner, and dares only say: May it please your highness? How much are you Mistaken? Know, sir, my soul is Prompter to my tongue, and gives it courage to say Anything that heaven will not frown at. We Should detract from those great pow'rs above, If we pay fears to any here below. Perhaps you think I'll beg my life now upon A pair of bent petitioning knees? No, sir; Had I a hundred lives, I'd give them all To sharpest deaths, rather than beg for one.

+Duke.+ You're well resolv'd; perhaps your mind may alter, When you see the axe. In the meantime commit him To the closest prison where, if you have any Accounts with heaven, you will have time to cast Them up before your death.

+Zor.+ Your sentence brings me Joy. Welcome the keenest axe that can be set! 'Twill cut my head and chains both off together. Welcome, most happy stroke, since it will bring Rest to my eyes, and make a slave a king. [_Exit with a Guard._

+Duke.+ Madam, I suppose this journey has so wearied You, that it is time to show you the way To your lodgings, and leave you to your Repose.

+Guard.+ Make way there for the duke!

+Amph.+ My lord, you had best attend the duke, because 'Tis a respect due to him.

+Ort.+ I shall, madam, At your command. [_Exeunt._

+Amph.+ How has my tongue belied my too true heart, In speaking hate unto The duke, and love to Ortellus! I hate the duke? So eyes do sleep, that long have known no rest. How could my lips give passage to such words, And not have clos'd for ever? Not by my heart's direction, I am sure; for that So swell'd, being injured by my mouth, as, had Not pride and reason kept it here from this Unquiet feat, it would have forc'd away To Archimedes' breast, and there have whisper'd to His heart my tongue's untruth. Why should I love This man, that shows me nothing but contempt And hate? Rouse, drooping heart, and think Of that; think of it always, so by degrees 'Twill bring a winter round thee, that in time Shall chill the heat of thy undone and lost Affections. O, it is not true that all Our sex love change, then I might find one path That leads to it; That womanish vice were virtue now in me, 'Twould free my heart, and that were charity.

_Enter +Duke+._

See, where he comes again; O, how I love And hate that man! Now help me, pride, and fill My breast with scorn; and pr'ythee, tongue, take heed You do not falter: hear not, my heart, that will Distract thy speech, and so betray my feign'd Unkindness.

+Duke.+ What, Amphelia all alone? Weary of your new love already? can't You pass away the time with him one hour?

+Amph.+ Were he No finer man than yourself, to be with him A minute, I should think a Seven years' penance. Good heart, lie still, and let my tongue alone. [_Aside._ I wonder what a woman can see in you, Or hear from you, to make her love you. (I was just going to have said, hate him.) [_Aside._ O, what a task is this! therefore let me Advise you to have a mean opinion Of yourself.

+Duke.+ Methinks that advice might serve For yourself. Ha, ha, ha!

+Amph.+ Have patience, heart, I know I lie: thou need'st Not tell me so--I had better then confess My love. [_Aside._] Do you laugh, duke? [i']faith So could I at you, till the tears ran down My cheeks--that they would quickly do, for grief Would fain unload my eyes. I must begone, I cannot longer act this part, unless I had a heart as hard as his. [_Aside._

+Duke.+ What, you are going Now to your love Ortellus?

+Amph.+ I am so, And going from you to him, is pleasure double, Not only pain, to quit, but joy to meet.

+Duke.+ Make haste then, for your departure will oblige Me too, so we shall be all pleas'd!

+Amph.+ Haste I will make, but with unwilling feet: For every step from him my grief repeats. [_Aside. Exit._

+Duke.+ She's gone, and after her my heart is flown, 'Tis well it has no tongue to make its moan; Then 'twould discover what my pride conceals, A heart in love (though slighted) love reveals. Yet though I love her still, she shall not know; Her hate shall seem my joy, which is my woe. My constancy I'll outwardly disguise, Though here within I am not half so wise. Yet rather than disclose my doating fate, I'll wound my heart by counterfeiting hate. To whine, it wou'd the worst of follies prove, Since women only pity when they love. With how much scorn she gave me welcome home, Ortellus in her hand, to show my doom! Me and my triumphs she did so despise, As if they'd been unworthy of her eyes. 'Tis well to her I show'd as much disdain; I'd rather perish than she guess my pain. But O, the horrid act she makes me do, To fool a woman that is young and true! So damn'd a sin, that hell could not invent, It is too foul for any punishment; To question those above I am afraid, Else I would ask them, why they woman made.

_Enter +Philidor+._

O my mad cousin, your servant. Whither so fast?

+Phil.+ So fast, sir? why, I have been hunted by a pack of hounds This three hours, And damn'd deep-mouth'd hounds too, [sir] no less than Three couple of nurses, three couple Of plaguy hunting bitches, and with them Three couple of whelps, alias children, sir. They have rung me such a ring this morning Through every by-turning that leads to a bawdy House, I wish'd myself earth'd a thousand Times, as a fox does when he is hard-run, But that they wou'd have presently digged me Out with their tongues.

+Duke.+ Faith, Philidor, 'Tis no news to me; for I have known thee From sixteen at this course of life. What, and these Children were all your bastards, and your nurses Coming to dun you for money?

+Phil.+ Something of that's in it, I think, sir.

+Duke.+ Well, coz, I'll leave thee to thy wildness; a fitter Companion much for thee than I at this time.

+Phil.+ Why, sir, I hope nothing has happened To trouble you?

+Duke.+ No, no; My grief, alas! is far beyond express; To tell it to a friend can't make it less. [_Exit._

+Phil.+ Wou'd I were at the wars again: I fear No sword half so much as the tongue of one Of these nurses; and the youling of th' children Are more dismal to my ears than the groans Of dying men in a battle. I am At this time in law with six or seven Parishes about fath'ring of bastards; Tis very fine truly! and yet me thinks 'Tis a hard case that I should be sued for Multiplying the world, Since death makes bold with bastards, As well as other children. The very picture Of a nurse and child in her arms wou'd fright Me now. O, from that sight deliver me!

_Enter Nurse and Child as he is going out._

Ha! and here they come: pox on't, what luck have I after saying my prayers? it shall be a Fair warning to me; now am I started Again, and must go run t'other course. [_Offers to run away._

+1st Nurse.+ 'Squire Philidor, 'Squire Philidor! [_She runs after him._

+Phil.+ How deaf Am I now! 'tis well I know this by-way To avoid her.

_Enter Second Nurse and meets him._

Ha! S'death, another? The devil appearing here too?

+2d Nurse.+ O my proper Young 'squire, stay, stay, d'ye hear, sir?

+Phil.+ No, indeed, won't I. Yet I know one way More to avoid them.

_Enter Third Nurse._

Ha! another coming Here too? Nay then, I find I am in hell, Before I thought I shou'd. What will become Of me now?

+3d Nurse.+ O 'squire, I thought I should Never have spoken with your worship.

+Phil.+ No, by this Light, shou'd you not, if I could have holp it. [_Aside._

+1st Nurse.+ I wonder, 'squire, at your conscience, t'avoid Your pretty babes as you do.

+Phil.+ So, now it Begins, I am like to have sweet music From the comfort of these nurses' tongues.

+1st Nurse.+ Saving your presence, sir, I think here are Three as sweet babes as ever sucked teat, And all born within the year too, besides Three more that your worship has in our street.

+Phil.+ A very hopeful generation! sure, This was a great nut year![73] Well, if all trades fail, I may go Into some foreign plantation, where They want people, and be well paid for my Pains: wou'd I were there now!

+1st Nurse.+ Codge, codge, Dos a laugh upon a dad? In conscience, sir, The child knows your worship.

+Phil.+ A very great comfort!

+1st Nurse.+ My young master here is as like your worship As e'er he can look; has your tempting eyes To a hair: I cou'd not choose but smile To myself t'other day; I was making him clean About the secrets, to see that[74] God had sent him In a plentiful manner; it put me half In mind of your worship. I am sure I Have been at double the expense of other Nurses, in eating choice meat, to make my Milk good for my young master, because I Would not spoil the growth of any one of his Members.

+2d Nurse.+ Nay, for that, neighbour, I have ate As good, or better, meat than you, every day In the week: I never touch'd a bit of Salt meat, for fear of spoiling my child's blood.

+Phil.+ Considering how well 'tis born. [_Aside._

+3d Nurse.+ Nay, neighbours, for that I have been at greater Charge than either of you, in choice diets, To breed good milk for my young mistress here.

+1st Nurse.+ You lie.

+2d Nurse.+ You are a quean.

+1st Nurse.+ And you're a whore. Marry, your husband is the notedest Cuckold in all our street.

+2d Nurse.+ You lie, you jade, Yours is a greater.

+Phil.+ Hiss! Now for a battle Royal.

+1st Nurse.+ If I lay the child out of my [_Lay their children down, and fight._ Arms, I'll pull off your head-clothes, you-- Carrion!

+2d Nurse.+ Marry, come, if thou durst.

+Phil.+ 'Tis best for me to be a coward, And march off from this bloody fight.

+All Nurses.+ Hold, hold, the 'squire is going away.

+Phil.+ So, nothing could have parted them this three Hours, but the fear of losing me. [_Aside._

+1st Nurse.+ What, wou'd Your worship have left us without paying us For nursing your children? you have a conscience, With a pox to you!

+Phil.+ So, now will they end Their war in vollies of shot upon me. I have but one thing now to do. With ev'ry One of these hags have I been forc'd to lie, Which they took as satisfaction for payment For two months' nursing. Perhaps, rather Than they will have it known to one another, They'll hold their tongues and leave me? Well, my three sweet harmonious nurses, what is due to you?

+1st Nurse.+ Due! why, there was twelve months Due for nursing; 'tis true, two months your squireship Satisfied me for.

+2d Nurse.+ And me too.

+3d Nurse.+ And me Likewise.

+Phil.+ Harkye, if you will not be gone, I'll tell.

+1st Nurse.+ No, marry, won't I, till I have My money.

+2d Nurse.+ Don't think to fright me, but pay me.

+3d Nurse.+ I fear you not; pay me my money.

+Phil.+ Pox on't, 'twill not do, I must try another Way.--Boy, was the wolf fed to-day?

+Boy.+ No, sir.

+Phil.+ Go fetch him quickly, to dine with these ladies. [_Exeunt +Nurses+._ So! I thought I should set them going. He! The devil, they have left the children behind them. This was a very cunning device of mine. Now am I in a pretty condition. Troth, a Very noble Anabaptist progeny! For the devil a one of these were ever Christen'd; for I have run so much upon Tick to the parsons for christening of Children, that now they all refuse to make Any bastards of mine a Christian Without ready money; so that I'll have This boy bred up a parson, that he may Christen himself and the rest of his sisters And brothers. What shall I do, when these infants, Begin to be hungry, and youl for th' teat? O, that a milk-woman wou'd come by now! Well, I must remove my flock from hence. Small Coal, small coal, will you buy any small coal? Pox on it. I could never light of any But fruitful whores. Small coal, small coal! [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[73] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, 275.]

[74] [Old copy, _what_.]